


They See Me Rollin'

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Hurt Sam, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Schmoop, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Huffing, puffing and attempting to roll over and push himself to his feet, Dean watches - eyes wide, heart in his throat - as the vampire manages to drop Sam





	They See Me Rollin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madebyme_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madebyme_x/gifts).



> Written for the OhSam Hurt V Comfort Birthday Meme. A prompt fill for Madebyme_X - Wheelchair. This carries my trademark humor too, hun, I hope you don't mind. ♥ And just the tiniest bit of hurt slipped in here. ♥ Thanks, as always, go to my amazing beta, Jj1564!

_Six weeks previous._

Sam runs hell for leather at the vampire hovering over Dean. 

Dean, who is trying to scrabble backwards away from the fangs and claws glinting in the moonlight above him.

Legs pumping, feet slamming into the ground, kicking up dust and debris, Sam smashes his shoulder into the vampire’s side, causing it to stumble away from Dean and turn its feral attentions to the man swinging his fists and yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Get away from my brother, you undead bitch!”

Dean’s still too dazed to really move, but he’s not far enough away from reality not to realise Sammy just saved his ass, but he’s still struggling to clear fog from his mind and he can only listen as Sam throws insults and punches at the creature that moments ago was intent on making Dean a meal.

Huffing, puffing and attempting to roll over and push himself to his feet, Dean watches - eyes wide, heart in his throat - as the vampire manages to drop Sam. 

Kicking Sam’s legs out from underneath him, the vampire launches itself into the air and brings it’s full bodyweight down on Sam’s hip, and all Dean can do is scream and dig his fingernails into the dirt.

The sound of what Dean assumes is Sam’s back literally breaking, makes him want to vomit over and over again, but he can’t afford to lose his footing, not when the vampire is baring its teeth and snapping at Sam’s exposed pretty pink neck.

Dean runs towards Sam and buries a knee in the vampire’s ribs before wrapping his hands around the thing’s throat and squeezing as hard as he can, dragging it backwards and away from Sammy who’s writhing and howling in agony.

The vampire begins to spit, hiss and flail its arms, but it does it no good as Dean slides his hands upwards and twists, ripping the things head clean off its neck.

Hands coated in fetid undead blood, Dean drops the vampire’s head and throws himself down next to Sam, who’s barely making any sense and can’t stop shivering and crying out.

“Sammy, Sammy, calm, I’ve got you, you’re safe. Let me look, let me look!”

Sam tries to put as much distance between Dean’s fingers and his left hip and leg as he can, because every time Dean tries to take a look at the rapidly swelling and purpling mass of flesh, it sends a pain shooting up and down Sam’s spine akin to someone forcing hot pokers underneath his fingernails.

The last thing Sam hears is Dean’s sharp intake of breath and whispered, “Oh crap!” before the pain is finally too much to take and Sam passes out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Don’t make me call the orderlies, Mr Winchester. I’m not going to warn you again.”

Dean glares at the Doctor who’s got an infuriatingly calm look on his face, but makes a concerted effort to effect ‘contrite’ before he ends up on his ass out in the parking lot. “Sorry, it’s just - why can’t I see him?”

The Doctor isn’t completely unfeeling, but he can’t do his job, neither can his staff, if this man will not calm down and let them work. “He’s not even awake, Mr Winchester. We’ve got him sedated due to the pain.”

“When _can_ I see him?”

“Soon. I promise.”

Dean blows out a breath and leans back against the wall. “How bad is it?”

“We’re going to have to go in and pin his leg, from his hip all the way down to his ankle.”

“Fuck.”

The Doctor can’t help his smirk at Dean’s one word assertion. “Well, no, actually, not for a while.”

Despite his worry about Sam, and his irritation at the doctor’s annoyingly calm outlook, Dean can’t help chuckling at the thought of a rabidly horny Sammy getting his panties in a twist when he wakes up looking like the bionic man. “Great, like he isn’t gonna be in enough of a bad mood.”

_Present day._

Sam sneers at Dean and slams his hands, palm flat, against his brother’s broad chest.

Locking his elbows and leaning forward, Sam tries to push Dean away. “Get **away** from me!”

Dean grinds his teeth and growls but refuses to move. “Nope.”

Sam would love nothing more than to smack Dean in his smug mouth, but knows he’ll overbalance and either end up on the floor staring into Dean’s know-it-all-I-told-you-so face, or he’ll be caught in his brother’s arms like the damsel in distress he is. 

Neither option appeals so Sam decides a little viciousness will have to do. “I can fucking dress myself, you overprotective freak!”

Dean shakes his head, rolls his eyes and pointedly stares at Sam’s legs, which are tangled quite spectacularly in a pair of jeans that haven’t made it past his knees. “Really? Because all evidence to the contrary tells me you need a hand. Stop bein’ a stubborn bitch, Sammy, and let me help.”

Sam sticks his nose in the air and huffs before crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, making him look like a toddler whose parent refuses to allow them out of the house wearing mismatched clothing. “I hate you.”

Dean smirks at Sam’s pouty lips and drops a gentle kiss against them, then bends down and starts untangling his brother’s jeans. “No, you don’t.”

“I really do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching Dean watching him is going to drive Sam into a psychiatric facility. The constant vigilance is pushing him past the point of sanity, what little he has left, at any rate. Everytime he even looks like he’s going to move Dean is there, just _there_ , hovering and fussing and being a giant pain in the ass.

Sam desperately needs to take a leak but the second he reaches for the wheels on his chair, Dean will be behind him, offering to roll him to the bathroom, and Sam thinks he would rather piss himself than have to fight with his brother, again, for a little space.

Clearing his throat and making a show of rubbing his stomach, Sam hopes Dean will take the hint and fuck off to the kitchen, just so he can wheel himself to the bathroom.

Dean knows how annoying he’s being but Sammy wasn’t the one who had to watch as they drilled holes in his leg. The sound alone made Dean want to throw up everything he’d ever eaten, let alone being able to see inside his brother’s fucking leg. 

Overprotectiveness can’t be helped when you’ve had to watch your little brother be put back together.

Dean’s also not stupid enough to not know that Sam really needs to visit the bathroom, but he’s already gotten into the mother of all rows with Sam over being too independent today, so he’s willing to _take the bait_ and offer up some food instead of calling Sam on his poor acting abilities. But the second he lands on his ass Dean is going to be there to pick him off it, because that’s what he does, what he will _always_ do.

Trying not to roll his eyes, Dean trains his features into an impassive mask and nods towards Sam’s hand, still rubbing his belly in an over the top gesture of hunger. “Want somethin’ to eat, Sammy?”

Sam lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Please. Anything but chicken and stars, though, okay?”

“My soup is amazin’, stop hatin’ just ‘cause you can’t cook like me.”

Sam smirks and flaps his hand at Dean. “Yeah yeah yeah, Dean. You know I’m not twelve, right?”

“You are **never** too old for chicken and stars.”

Sam waits until he can hear Dean pottering about in the kitchen before rolling towards the bathroom, and hopes he doesn’t end up in a tangle of crutches and wet denim, like last time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s _finally_ bedtime, **finally** Sam can re-acquaint himself with a mattress that remembers him and can crawl under a blanket without Dean commenting on his old lady status.

Sam’s about ready to drop; his arms are killing him and he’s got a headache like someone trying to thread a running sewing machine behind his left eye, not to mention the fact his leg is throbbing. Sam can feel his own heartbeat thrumming against the pins lining the inside of his thigh and ankle, and it’s agony.

The only problem is Sam’s either going to have to hobble up and down six different sets of steps, steps that have no real use other than to fuck a guy off when he’s forced to use crutches and a wheelchair -whilst swearing and sweating like a pig, and risking falling flat on his ass - or he’ll **have** to ask Dean for help.

Every victory against gravity that Sam manages to win during the day is obliterated come nightfall because he can’t manage the simple task of taking himself to bed. 

Who ever designed the Bunker needs a slap, a really hard slap.

The first night after being released from the hospital into Dean’s over the top hairy-eyeball care, Sam seriously considered crawling along the corridor using his fingernails to drag himself the two hundred yards to their bedroom, if only to avoid Dean’s inevitable need to mollycoddle and mother him.

Sam had wheeled himself to the first set of up and down steps, and stared at them like he wanted to take a grenade launcher to the tiling, until Dean had stepped up behind him, fireman lifted him out of his chair, and carried him to their bedroom, much to Sam’s eternal shame. 

From that night to this Dean’s been trying to persuade Sam to make a bed up in the communal area, but when you spend your entire day staring at the same four walls you need a change of scenery, even if it’s only for the ten minutes it takes you to fall headfirst into a dead-like sleep. 

It isn’t just the fact Sam needs to be anywhere but _that_ room, at least for a few hours, but he refuses, point blank **refuses** , to give up his chance for a cuddle after a hard day trying not to show he’s in monumental amounts of pain and can barely tie his shoes alone. 

Despite the fact they can’t have sex - a rule which Dean’s been enforcing religiously, even though he’s been suffering a seriously debilitating case of blue balls for weeks - Sam still needs his brother’s warmth and presence. The worst days are made so much better by wrapping himself around Dean’s solid body as they both drift into sleep. Sam will not give that up, even if he has to set up a winch and pulley system to get him to bed.

Sam stares longingly at the darkened corridor leading off the communal area, and Dean can _sense_ an argument coming. It’s hanging in the air like a bomb about to go off - a bubble that’s expanding at a rate of knots and could pop any second.

Dean steps up behind Sam, who’s laying with his leg propped against the back of the couch, and leans his chin on Sam’s head. “You’ve got two choices, Gigantor; I carry you, or you sleep in here. I can’t believe we’re still having this discussion, it’s been weeks.”

Sam’s still thinking about scooting his ass to bed using a plastic sheet and sheer willpower, when Dean walks away.

“Fine, fine. I give up. Wait here.”

Dean practically runs along the corridor and Sam shouts after him. “Like I’m gonna go anywhere else, FUCKING SHOW OFF!”

Dean reappears only minutes later, arms laden with blankets and pillows, and throws them on the floor next to Sam’s in need of serious fumigation couch, before spinning and running away again.

Finally Dean emerges, heaving for breath and dragging the mattress off their bed, at which point Sam bursts into loud chest rattling laughter. 

“Are you - are you seriously gonna - oh, Dean, really?”

Dean turns the mattress over, forcing it flat against the floor, and curls himself into a lotus position atop it. “Really! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t sleep in there with you, moron?”, before using the walls of the corridor to slide across the tiles beneath the mattress, like he’s rowing through the Bunker.

Sam watches, transfixed by the child-like glee on Dean’s face, as his brother surfs their mattress along the corridor, and winces as he drops off the edge of a set of steps into an indent in the walkway.

The mattress is now wedged between the steps and Dean’s laying atop it chuckling at his own stupidity.

“You dick.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Finally Dean rises and yanks the mattress free from the steps, then scans the room for a suitable position to place it. “I hope Castiel doesn’t decide to _pop_ in tonight.”

Sam grins at Dean’s nesting technique and thinks about the look on the Angel’s face if he finds them bare assed and snoring in the middle of the Bunker’s living space. “It’ll teach him to call first.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wakes with a start, drenched in sweat and heart beating like he’s run a marathon, and automatically reaches out for Dean.

The flailing flapping hand that slaps Dean upside the head disturbs a beautiful dream about Sam being covered in maple syrup and chocolate sprinkles, and he almost lashes out, until he realises he can _hear_ Sam’s heart beating like a freight train. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Sam can barely get the words out, he’s so tangled in the nightmare that forced him from slumber. “I - you - we - “

Dean curls himself around Sam, careful not to lean on his busted leg, and begins stroking his fingers through Sam’s sweat soaked hair. “I’m here, we’re here. It’s okay.”

Sam wraps himself into a ball in Dean’s arms and allows the feel of fingers carding through his hair to sooth away the image of Dean; throat ripped out, eyes dead and unseeing, blood drying and crusting on his tee as Sam weeps over his lifeless body.

Dean and Sam have been having nightmares for years. Between them they must get about four hours sleep a night, but they both never ask. They both never want to know what it is the other saw, for fear it will add to the night terrors that have plagued them since childhood. Tonight, however, Sam’s body will not stop quaking and Dean has to know.

“What did you see?”

“You. Dead. Vamp-chow.”

Dean runs the tip of his nose across Sam’s forehead and whispers. “It didn’t happen, you saved me, remember?”

Sam hears Dean’s words, knows them to be true, but he can still smell his brother’s rotting flesh as the sun rises above his lifeless corpse, and he has to feel, has to touch, has to make sure that this Dean is the real one, the one who feels and loves and irritates him to the point of wanting to kiss or kick him.

Dean’s suddenly on his back and staring up at Sam whose eyes are wild and scanning his face for any sign of the nightmare vision, and he knows he should stop this, but there’s something in the fingertip grip Sam’s got on the fear, which is rolling off him in waves, that makes Dean realise his brother needs this, really needs this.

Sam wills Dean to understand, to not say no, to allow him the comfort of slip sliding flesh and incoherency borne of passion.

Dean doesn’t know if Sam can physically withstand this but he’s willing to try, if only to remove the shadow looming behind his brother's eyes, so he reaches up and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, tugging it away from his face, before gripping Sam’s cheeks and dragging his face down into an almost brutal kiss.

In between sloppy uncoordinated kisses, Dean breathes words into Sam’s mouth. “I’m alive. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

Sam feels every word, every syllable; they roll across his tongue and telegraph down his body, coming to rest at the base of his cock which is already hard and trapped between his stomach and Dean’s.

Dean’s been dying for a fuck for weeks, but he’s not been willing to risk Sam’s leg, or the therapy he’ll need if they ruin the work of the pins, but he’s powerless to withstand the sound of Sam groaning in his ear whilst he can feel his brother’s cock sliding against his hot skin.

The sensation of Sammy dry humping him is one thing, but the words that keep spilling from his lips is what forces Dean into action.

“Promise. Promise you won’t leave me. Never. Promise me!”

Dean takes a second to calm his nerves and visceral reactions to Sam’s ministrations then digs his nails into Sam’s cheek, to get his brother’s attention. “Sammy, stop, we need - “

“Please, please don’t, I need - “

The panic in Sam’s voice is heartbreaking.

Dean rushes to reassure him. “No, no, listen, we need to make sure I don’t re-break your leg.”

On some level, underneath his animal need to _feel_ Dean, Sam knows his brother is right, so allows him to shift and shunt and move them into a position that won’t affect his lame healing limb, but he’s almost apoplectic with need by the time Dean finally slides the tip of his dick against Sam’s twitching hole.

Dean’s behind Sam - big spoon to Sam’s little one - which amuses the older Winchester to no end, because Sammy hasn’t been the little spoon for years, but tonight, he’s going to have to be.

Together they rock gently, allowing Dean to slide inside Sam, to feel himself being gripped by his brother's familiar heat, and as one they begin to move properly.

Sam’s so close to losing himself he doesn’t realise he’s reached around and his gouging half moon marks out of Dean’s hip. 

It’s only Dean’s low hiss and teeth biting into Sam’s shoulder that bring Sam back from the brink long enough to find their way together.

Finally Dean snakes a hand over Sam’s hip and grips his cock, fingers wrapping the base before tugging hard, fisting him in time to the slow stuttering rhythm.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to shoot his load, to spew strings of hot sticky come all over Dean’s hand, and as Sam’s body convulses it pushes Dean over the very edge of reason and despite the pain he knows it will cause Sam, he thrusts hard, too hard.

Spilling himself inside Sam, Dean rides out the waves of euphoria and waits for the convulsions to ease before wrapping himself around his brother and breathing into his ear. “Always gonna be here, Sammy, always.”

Sam allows Dean’s heat at his back and the feel of come trickling across his thighs to calm him into sleep, knowing that Dean will be there when he wakes up.

 

Fin.


End file.
